Today that vernal performance was weeks away. It was dark and a light rain was fal ing. I zipped my jacket, lowered my head, and made a dash for the car. The news came on as I was entering the Vil e-Marie Tunnel, the Toussaint murder the lead story. That night Emily Anne was to have received an award in a lower-school writing competition. She'd titled her winning essay: "Let the Children Live."

I reached over and turned off the radio.

I thought of my plans for the evening and was glad I'd have someone to buoy my spirits. I vowed not to talk shop with Ryan.

Twenty minutes later I opened my apartment door to the sound of a ringing phone. I glanced at my watch. Six-fifty. Ryan would be here in forty minutes and I wanted time for a shower.

I walked to the living room and threw my jacket on the couch. The machine clicked on and I listened to my voice request a short message. Birdie appeared at the exact moment Isabel e came on.

"Tempe, if you're there, pick up. C'est important." Pause. "Merde!"

I real y didn't want to talk but something in her voice made me reach for the handset.

"Hel o, Isa -- "

"Turn on the television. CBC."

"I know about the Toussaint child, I was at the lab -- "

"Now!"

I picked up the remote and clicked on the set.

Then I listened in horror.

Chapter 5

Lieutenant-detective Ryan had been under investigation for several months. He has been charged with possession of stolen goods and with trafficking and possession of control ed substances. Ryan surrendered peaceful y to GUM officers this afternoon outside his home in the Old Port. He has been suspended from duty without pay pending a ful investigation.

And now some other stories that we've been fol owing. In financial news, the proposed merger of -- "

"TEMPE!" Isabel e's bark snapped me back. I raised the receiver to my ear.

"C'est lui, n'est-ce pas? Andrew Ryan, crimes contre la personne, Sureté du Québec?"

"It's got to be a mistake."

As I said the words my eyes flew to the message light. Ryan hadn't cal ed.

"I'd better go. He'l be here soon.

"Tempe. He's in jail."

"I've got to go. I'l cal you tomorrow"

I hung up and dialed Ryan's apartment. No answer. I cal ed his pager and entered my number. No response. I looked at Birdie. He had no explanation.

By nine I knew he wasn't coming. I'd cal ed his home seven times. I'd phoned his partner, with the same result. No answer. No response.

I tried grading the final exams I'd brought from UNC-Charlotte, but couldn't concentrate. My thoughts kept going back to Ryan. Time would pass and I'd find myself staring at the same essay in the same blue book, my mind absorbing nothing the student had written. Birdie nestled in the crook of my knees, but it was smal comfort.